Chapter 55: A Very Expensive Needle

Chapter 55: A Very Expensive Needle

Vessa turned Silas’s drawing sideways.

He waited while she studied it beneath the workshop lamp. Behind her, a machine hissed out a curl of steam that smelled faintly of hot oil. Farther inside, someone was arguing with a delivery driver about the size of a crate.

"It’s pointed at both ends," Vessa said.

"Yes," Silas said.

"And you want adamantite in it."

"That’s why I drew the arrows," he said.

Vessa laid the paper flat. "I thought those were the parts you planned to stab yourself with."

Silas looked at the drawing. He had put rather a lot of arrows on it.

"I’ll be using Remote Grasp," he said.

"Then show me."

She reached under the counter and set three unfinished metal blanks on a cloth. Each was roughly the length of his palm, in different thicknesses. The largest looked satisfyingly solid, so Silas lifted it first.

Moving it was easy enough. Turning it while keeping a straight approach toward the wooden block she set out was not. His control slipped, and the blank hit the block broadside with a clack.

Vessa raised one gray eyebrow beneath her work cap.

"I can practice," Silas said.

"You can. Or you can start with something suited to the strength you actually have." She tapped the smallest blank. "That one."

He guided it across the counter. Its tip touched the block almost exactly where he intended. On the second attempt, he stopped it just short of contact and drew it back.

Vessa watched the return more closely than the approach.

"A dart," she said. "No grip, no ornament, narrow body. Enough through the middle that it won’t fold when you hit at a bad angle."

"Will it go through armor?"

"Whose?" Vessa asked.

Silas hesitated.

"That matters," Vessa said. "So does how hard you drive it. Good metal won’t make your Talent any stronger."

He looked at the blank hovering between them and lowered it onto the cloth. He had imagined sending a slender sliver of adamantite through something much bigger than himself and enjoying the look on its face. Apparently, there would be a great deal of work between those two events.

Vessa brought out a narrow case with a thumb catch. It was a little longer than the proposed dart and padded inside.

"Covered points while you carry it. Release the catch before you try pulling it out."

"I know how a case works," Silas said.

"You brought me a drawing with two stabbing ends and nowhere to put your fingers," Vessa said. "I ask."

Silas paid attention while she showed him the catch.

They settled on a slender, double-pointed design, with adamantite reinforcing the body and both tips. Vessa would need twenty grams from his reserve. The rest of the construction, the case, and her labor came to eighteen gold.

He studied the quote, thinking of the twelve gold he had paid for his entire shortblade.

"It’s a very small weapon," he said.

"You’re paying me to keep it small," Vessa said.

That was hard to argue with. He authorized the vault transfer and paid the fee, then watched Vessa mark a collection date four days away. Nine hundred and thirty grams would remain in his reserve.

As he turned to leave, Vessa caught his wrist lightly and checked the edge of his bracer.

"Any pinching?"

"No. It’s comfortable."

She let go with a satisfied nod. "Bring the case back if it catches on your clothes. Don’t fix it by cutting the catch off."

"Was that on my drawing too?" Silas asked.

"No," Vessa said. "That one’s experience."

Silas left before she could remember anything else her customers had done.

Two evenings later, Maelin came by to collect her pencil and stayed to complain about the competition timetable.

"They’ve put the qualifiers straight after a written assessment," she said, dropping into the guest chair. "As if we weren’t going to be tired enough."

Silas handed her the pencil. "I’ve recently discovered paying someone to explain the written parts."

"Did it help?" Maelin asked.

"Annoyingly," Silas said.

Maelin smiled and tucked the pencil into her book. Her hair was loosely gathered behind her horns, with several strands escaping around her face. She had come straight from class, and there was a pale smudge of chalk on one sleeve.

For three days, every thought of her had dragged the same ugly memory along behind it. Now she was sitting here, opening a packet of dried fruit and offering him half.

Silas took a piece. He had to make himself stop staring at her.

"Arden answered," Maelin said.

He set the fruit down. "About your father?"

"She’ll keep his belongings together, and she’ll tell me before a recovery team goes down." Maelin pressed the packet closed. "The engineering review isn’t finished. They still haven’t found Dace."

Her thumb worked along the folded edge as she spoke. Silas remembered the name, the man who had seen her father hold the way open while others escaped.

"I’m glad she answered the part you actually asked," he said.

"So am I." Maelin leaned back and rested her head against the chair. "I sent the permission without rewriting it again. That was something."

Silas reached for his own notes to give her a moment. She watched him move them off the table.

"Are you busy?" she asked.

"Nothing that can’t wait."

Split Focus had taken up most of his private practice since Tobin’s visit. That afternoon, he had managed two simple tasks for longer before tangling them together. He could spare some time for Maelin.

Maelin pulled a folded prospectus from inside her book.

"I asked about the next habitat survey course," she said. "The proper one, with the qualifications you need for real fieldwork."

Silas took it. The page showed an instructor standing beneath a broad canopy, surrounded by students holding measuring equipment.

"I thought you were tired of reports," he said.

"I am. Reading them is still better than walking into something because nobody bothered." She looked at the picture. "I’d like to know enough to make my own judgment."

He followed her finger down the list of courses. Some of the requirements were well beyond their current training. It would take time.

"Next year?" he asked.

"If I can finish the prerequisites. There’s a shorter course first." Her face brightened. "And I’d like to see Ilyr without spending the whole visit wondering whether I’m allowed to touch a door."

"Some of those doors probably deserve it."

"Then I’ll leave you outside and find out," Maelin said.

Silas almost answered. The words stuck as he looked at the dates on the page.

Next year.

Her pencil rested across her knee. She tapped it against the book while considering another course, already working out what she could afford to take on.

You didn’t get that far.

He lowered the prospectus before his fingers could crease it.

Maelin noticed. "What?"

"Nothing. I was thinking about how much there is to learn."

"That’s what the four years are for."

Silas handed it back. He wanted to tell her to stay away from that gate, to pull some promise out of her before she even knew there was anything to refuse. He wasn’t even sure what had made her volunteer in the game. A player only ever saw the decision after it had been made.

Here, she was sitting in his room with plans that stretched well past the end of the month.

He would have to do better than remembering her death.

Nim climbed down from the bed and crept toward the loose corner of the prospectus. Maelin lifted it out of reach.

"It isn’t a toy," she told him.

Nim looked to Silas for support. Silas shook his head, and the spirit went off to investigate the empty fruit packet instead.

Maelin laughed and folded the course list away.

Silas picked up his communicator and opened the practice-room bookings. He had meant to wait until he collected the dart. Instead, he picked a time before the good slots disappeared.

"Training?" Maelin asked.

"Yes." He confirmed the booking. "There are a few things I need to get right."

She reached for her book. "Would you mind if I stayed until this section makes sense?"

"Stay," Silas said.

He brought his notes back to the table, leaving her enough room to spread out the prospectus again if she wanted.